


how do you know which sunset belongs to the shore?

by tetsuwu



Series: too many probablys for a lifetime [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, KRTSK is established because its KRTSK Fluff Week 2018, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of drugs, Mild Language, Post-Break Up, kinda OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetsuwu/pseuds/tetsuwu
Summary: Keiji’s hard drive crashes. He goes to retrieve his files, along with something else.





	how do you know which sunset belongs to the shore?

**Author's Note:**

> Belated happy birthday, ‘Kaaashi!

A groan. Some shuffling. Rapid clicks of buttons. A longer, frustrated groan. 

 

“Fuck”, Akaashi whispers.

 

Losing your hard drive is hard. Especially if such hard drive contains both your entire life’s hard work and fond memories that you would rather keep hidden beneath several layers of folders instead of brandishing it on some online profile. Akaashi believes some captured moments are just too intimate to share; tucking it in the confines of a virtual memory bank means keeping that intimacy intact. 

 

 

_Remind me again why did we become so dependent on digital memory?_

 

 

Akaashi plugs the drive again, hoping to at least salvage some of his files, hoping in case the universe is just humoring him and decides to give him a break. He just finished his final graduate paper weeks ago, and is about to fly out for a project abroad, but alas, his drive went on ahead to have a field day of its own and never returned. _Perfect timing. Just the way the universe intended_. The LED blinks to life a couple of times, there’s a thrumming of engine hardware that means his laptop is taking his side. _Please don’t give up_. The LED flickers, once, twice, thrice, then it’s gone. The thrumming sound simmers to a hush. 

  

Akaashi sighs. _Nothing I could do about this I suppose._

 

He picks up his phone and dials a number. A familiar drawl of voice cuts through the fifth ring.

 

  

“Yo, Akaashi? How’ya? I thought you flew out already.”

 

“Kuroo-san, I need your help”.

 

“Ohohoho?”

 

“Uhh, my hard drive crashed. Do you still have that data recovery software you once used when Tsukishima had to for-“

 

“Crashed that badly, eh? Yeah I still have it. Uh, I’m in Miyagi right now, but if you can, drop by the apartment. Bokuto’s there. I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you.”

  

“Kuroo-san, I can drop by when you get home. There’s no rush actually.”

 

“Do you at least have a copy of your files?”

 

“Uh I’m sure I do. Somewhere.”

 

“Nu-uh, you ain’t pulling a feint on me. Go to the apartment. I’ll call up Bokuto after this.”

 

“Kuroo-san, I-“

 

 

A muffled sound passes through the receiver. Probably Tsukishima checking up on Kuroo. Not a second later, Kuroo speaks, “Hey, Tsukki says hello!”

 

 

“Hello, Tsukishima”

 

Another series of muffled sound, this time, similar to Kuroo’s voice. Probably Tsukishima taking the phone up to his ears. “Hello to you, too, Akaashi-san. I thought you were leaving for field?”

 

“Ah it’s on next week. I need to sort some things before I leave.”

 

“Hmm. How long til you come back?”

 

“Two years, if all goes well. Never, otherwise.”

 

 

He hears Kuroo’s chuckle. They probably put him on speaker now, phone held up by one hand, while the other carding through jet-black hair. They are probably tangled on the younger boy’s bed, shifting long limbs that are far too familiar with the nooks of the bed and each other’s joints. Probably, they’ve been talking, the whole of their faces and features and gestures, speaking and assuring and comforting, long until one feels assured enough and other feels a grumbling stomach and pinpricked arm. 

 

 

He can easily picture them, since he’s seen it before.

 

 

“Aka— Keiji”, Kuroo speaks.

 

“Hmm”

 

“Just go to the apartment.”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

 

Another bout of silence. This time, it’s Tsukishima who breaks it.

 

 

“We should go see each other and hang out once you’re back.”

 

“Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

 

 

After five deep breaths, Keiji hangs up first.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

“Ohoho”

 

“Ohohoho”

 

“Ohohohoho”

 

“Akaashi is dropping by there. Probably later. Probably tomorrow. Can you help him retrieve his files? His drive crashed and, as you might have heard, he’s leaving for field next week.”

 

 

Muted surprise. Silence.

 

 

“Bro? Bro. Bokuto? Hooot?”

 

“Yeah sure. I’ll just need to load the program right? Easy peasy!”

 

“Yeah. Hey, you alright?”

 

“I’m cool. Although I miss your cooking. It’s been non-stop instant ramen for me. How’s Miyagi? How’s Tsukki?”

 

“It’s cool. Nerve-wracking. I mean, how do I start my speech? I forgot how we practiced the speech, man.” Bokuto can almost imagine the sullen back-and-forth pacing and rotation of shoulders as telltale signs that his bro-friend is, maybe, really losing his nerves.

 

 

He’s only seen it once, back during their final high school summer training camp, when Kuroo was a bundle of mess and sweat and bedhead frantically asking for his and Akaashi’s advice on how to approach that aloof, no-nonsense Karasuno middle blocker who just happened to walk outside the third gymnasium. _Oh hey you, Karasuno! You with the glasses. Would you jump some blocks for us?…Besides, if you’re a middle blocker, you should practice your block a bit more._ As nonchalant as possible, yet riling enough to enamour the blonde.

 

 

 

_Things were better back then._

 

 

Kuroo’s impromptu tactic was completely effective. When inebriated, Tsukki spills his drinks, his kisses, and his secrets, admits that his fascination towards the captain started during the camp. Ever since, Kuroo calls his wooing skills _hook blonde and sinker_. Ever since, he relishes a smack or elbow jab to his side. Bokuto knows despite the wincing, his friend is grateful.

 

 

 

_Things were better back then._

 

 

“Bro, you know how much Tsukki likes you. Even his family has learned to like you. You got this.”

 

“Hnngg what if they suddenly decide I’m not good for their son anymore?” _Ridiculous, you’re like, the best partner one can have_ , Bokuto thinks. “What if, Tsukki decides to back out? What if it’s all just a dream, a too-good-to-be-true hallucination because, you remember, we got so high that one time after graduation? What if I’m still high?”

 

“Then I’m just gonna ride the fastest train there is and conk you out because there’s no way in hell Tsukki’s not gonna go through this. I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you? Okay, sometimes no. But I’ve seen it, man. I can almost draw heart-shaped outlines around his eyes, but he’d probably kill me for that. But, you get my point.”

 

“Yeah I get your point“.

 

“And may I remind you that the dinner is just formality? And that- 

 

“-we are practically engaged, yeah, I know, you’ve told me quite a couple of times.”

 

 

Bokuto smirked. He’s happy for his best friend, hell, he could have even joined him on this trip if not for his schedule. But he’s definitely gonna be there, in the ceremony, when it happens. In a couple of years. Probably. _Hopefully._

 

 

“Now, groom up. We don’t want your bedhead to be the cause of Tsukki’s parents’ disproval”.

 

“Hey! I’ll have you know the bedhead is my charm”.

 

 

Thunder rumbling sounds far away. Someone gently knocks on the door.

 

 

“I know. That’s my bro! Anyway, call you back later. I think he’s here.”

 

“Yeah, call me later. Tell me how it goes.”

 

 

Bokuto sighs, then hangs up.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

As he places the phone on the bedside table, Tsukishima scoots and tucks himself under Kuroo’s arm.

 

 

“Kuroo, do you think Akaashi-san would-“. A finger prompts his lips to a halt. Tsukishima looks at the older man quizzically. Kuroo adjusts his arms to rest Tsukishima’s head on his chest.

 

“They’ll sort it out”.

  

“But Akaashi-san is leaving”.

 

“I know, that’s why they’ll sort it out. They’re both earnest people.” Kuroo pauses. Tsukishima looks at him. With or without his glasses, he’s worth all the vulnerable, the grandiose, and everything in between.

 

“Plus, I think they really are meant for each other”.

  

Tsukishima hums and hugs him tighter. “Sappy. Let’s clean up. Dinner’s in an hour.”

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

It took thirty minutes after the call to move from where he’s been sitting. He tries to plug the drive again, hoping it would work this time around. As the device flickers, Akaashi inwardly prays to whoever deity is listening. _Please give me this. Please make it work. Please make this work._ Opening his eyes, his lips curled into a frown. Unsuccessful. _Great._

  

Putting on a black cardigan and hat, he trundled and trudged and walked over boxes of things scattered across the floor. Things that were previously displayed but now, like the photographs he wish to recover, hidden inside layers of carton and boxes. _“Two years is such a long time, Keiji.”_

 

He looks back to the boxes scattered across his floor. _To preserve their intimacy. Perhaps._

 

Outside, the gale whispers the coming of a downpour. Akaashi picks up his umbrella and muses if weather would prolong to next week, inevitably delaying his flight a day or two. He calculates the amount of time he might lose on the other side of the landing, while weighing it against the amount of time he gains staying on the home court. He works the ins and outs of his timelines as he walks towards the station. The path he memorized so well with five years of practice. He takes the subway, calm and confident he wouldn’t miss the stop he had so often alighted at. Had the exit signs have eyes, they would have recognised him immediately.

 

 

 _Silly me,_ muses Akaashi.

 

 

Arriving at the threshold, he feels panic punch through. He checks for his bag and wallet, assuring himself that he did bring his hard drive for repair. Keiji takes five solid breaths before he gently taps the door.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

The man in front of him is as ethereal as ever. The world seemed to do its proverbial halting when deep green eyes meet his for the first time in a while. _Keiji. Keiji. Keiji._ Like a mantra to the gods, like emergency sirens blaring through the air, clouding his senses and muffling any other sound. Bokuto clenches his fist to regain focus.

  

He still dresses well, although it seems he’s reverted to muted colors and monotones, compared to his previous selection of plaids and florals and prints.

 

 

“Hello, Bokuto-san”, Akaashi greets him.

  

“Hello, Akaashi”.

 

 

Bokuto attempts to flash his iconic megawatt smile. He likes to think he did well, judging by the ever-slight widening of Akaashi’s eyes. He likes the way how he’s still attuned to Akaashi’s expressions despite their time apart. Minute, but nonetheless meaningful. It took him quite a while to master those signals by heart.

 

 

_But a year apart is quite a long time._

 

 

“I believe Kuroo-san has informed you of my… problem”.

  

“Yeah, he did call. It’s about the hard drive, right? Come in.”

 

 

The world seems to return to its regular programming. The rain starts to patter against the window. Bokuto opens the door to let the guest in and the gale out.

 

 

“Do you want anything to drink?”

  

“Tea would be nice”.

 

“Sure”.

 

 

 

 

 

Bokuto still knows how Akaashi likes his tea, just like he knows the form for a good spike. He expertly places the kettle with water, igniting the stove, pulling out two mugs from the cabinet and fishing three teabags from the container. While waiting, he fires up the software.

 

 

“Can I have your drive?”

  

“Here”.

 

 

Akaashi rummages a bit before producing the drive and hands it to him. He imagines time slowing relatively as their fingers graze lightly against each other. They used to touch and feel each other casually, from pats on the back, to interlaced fingers, to caresses on the inside of the other’s thighs.

  

Now, he thinks the charge against their skin is sharp and electrocuting.

 

The kettle curses at their silence. Bokuto pours water and sets the mug with two teabags nearest to Akaashi.

 

 

 

 

 

The kettle has done its job, but the silence is more insistent. Kuroo’s computer thrums, filling in the silence that engulfs. Akaashi feels the warmth of the cup seeping through the pads of his finders. He takes a sip. He’s always liked his tea scalding hot. Just like how he phrases his thoughts.

  

Most of the time, it pays well to be transparent and blunt.

 

 

“Sorry to bother you on your rest day”.

  

“No worries”.

 

“How’s the team?”

 

“Good. We’re good. Kageyama’s fitting in quite nicely. Yaku’s the back up libero. Still whips Lev every now and then to keep him in line. Sakusa has adjusted from being a germ-hating bastard to just a bastard. Can you believe he _actually joins_ huddles now?”

 

“Wow, you must have imprinted on him so much. So I guess with those improvements, you still rank fourth best spiker in your team?”

  

“Ha! Funny now! Well, what do you care, I’m still gonna be the best!”

 

 

 

 _But I still do care._

 

 

 

Most of the time, it pays well to be transparent and blunt. But this is not most of the time.

  

Bokuto flops on the swivel chair and begins inspecting the device. A couple of rapid clicks here and there. Akaashi tries to follow the cursor but fails, eventually glazing over the spiker’s hand. Trailing across the expanse of skin, across the calloused fingers and broad hand and defined forearms, roaming dangerously towards the shoulders and neck and face. He can feel the crawl underneath his skin, a form of electrocution that is far too familiar, the kind that would have sent a thrill down his spine later on.

  

The clicking sound grounds him though. Akaashi returns his gaze on the screen, seeing everything while not taking in anything at all. He just looks and looks and looks, determined not to see.

  

Bokuto cracks the simmering tension. Akaashi turns to him.

 

 

“Hmm. There’s hope. I think I can recover your files since the software has detected your drive. But…”, Bokuto squints at the numbers crunching on display. Akaashi swells up with amusement.

 

“…it might take quite some time. Probably an entire day or two, if you want all files to be recovered. Do you have the time?”

  

“I still do.”

 

 

Akaashi shuffles and readies himself to go home, as the rain threatens to a pounding downpour. It doesn’t take a set of full five deep breaths for him to slip on his shoes at the genkan, prompt his leave with a nod, and get to the other side of the landing.

 

 

 

 

 

There is a shift in him, relieved, in the way Akaashi has spoken. Three words. _I still do._ Bokuto tries not to think about it. He’s been known to demolish past hurdles and allow himself a glimpse of victory even when still out of reach. It works well in volleyball. But apparently not so much in his relationship with Akaashi. Thus, he quells whatever hope has sprung inside him.

 

 

 

_A year apart indeed is a long time._

 

 

 

 

 

When Akaashi left the apartment, Bokuto promptly dials Kuroo’s number, but halts on pressing the call button as he remembers the dinner of the century, as Kuroo dubbed it.

 

Groaning, he looks at where his guest previously sat, flops down on the couch face first, then dozes off to a place where he clutches to one raven-haired boy, grinning wide, flash blinding and shutter snapping.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

Akaashi considers himself a sensible person. With the way he whittles down lofty probabilities into more concrete possibilities, he is rarely off-tangent. However, this one, he feels like he not only missed an opportunity, rather, was too dumbstruck to not understand that there was one to begin with.

  

Seeing Bokuto again a year after they fell apart is like a douse of ice cold water to the face. But instead of admiration, he was faced with a litany of whys. Regret screams at the forefront, a series of _could have been_ s and _if only_ s buzzing incessantly close to his ears.

 

Akaashi drifts back to the apartment, to its occupant things, to its occupant being. It was a lot cleaner than he remembered. Perhaps due to Bokuto’s nomadic schedule, probably just arrived from a gruelling practice from elsewhere. Perhaps it is really Kuroo-san who’s the messier of two.

 

Or perhaps it’s been such a long time and he’s changed so much.

 

 

 

_A year apart is already a long time._

 

 

 

He remembers the photographs haphazardly plastered on the wall just above the television set —

Bokuto and Kuroo, disheveled and just graduated, while trying to elbow the other out of the frame;

A candid photo of Tsukishima nuzzling the crook of Kuroo’s neck. Kuroo outdid himself on that one;

A polaroid snap of their volleyball team when they won the Spring High Tournament;

A photo of Bokuto with his parents and siblings after graduation; 

The two of them after Bokuto’s last high school practice, following his turnover speech. Bokuto’s arms hooked around him, noses touching— 

Akaashi closes his eyes and breathes in. Seeing the photograph transported him to a place where everything was clearer and their futures could still align.

 

 

 

 

 

He rushes to the bathroom to wash his face, to flush away the storm inside him. He thinks of ways on how to create another shot at alignment.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroo picks up on the fourth ring.

  

It is past midnight. The celebratory wine has settled nicely in his system. He is relaxed, the most he’s been since last month when he and Tsukishima first planned the dinner. Despite the floating feeling, he is alert for any calls from his best friend a couple of prefectures away.

 

He kisses Tsukishima good night before rushing down the hall to take the call.

 

 

“Bro! How did it go?”

 

“It went well. Tsukki’s family gave a green light. So it’s cool. Yeah. It’s cool”.

 

“When you come back, we’re gonna drink so much we’re gonna puke our eyes out”.

 

“Fuck yes!”

 

 

The bedroom door opens. For a moment, Kuroo’s entire being stills as Tsukki steps out, soft light casting shadows at the right places as he holds his phone close to his ear. _It’s Akaashi-san,_ he mouths. Kuroo smirks. Ah, these two.

 

 

“So enough about me, how about you? How did the impromptu meeting with Akaashi go?”

 

 

Silence. It felt like minutes before Bokuto speaks again.

 

 

“I think I still love him…”

  

“I know you do”.

 

“… I mean, I still know a lot about him, how he likes his tea, his expressions, hell, I still felt it when he gazed at me. There’s tingling sensation, I don’t know. I think I still like him…”

 

“I know you do”.

 

“… but it’s been a year since we’ve parted. What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”

 

 

Kuroo turns to look at his partner staring at the window. Tsukishima basks under the moonlight glow, full of tenderness and entwined futures.

  

They’re in it for the long haul. Might as well tag those two along in their journey.

 

 

“He still does”.

  

“How would you know?”

  

“I just do. Wisdom of an engaged man”.

 

“Pfft. That’s funny!”

  

“Try asking him for yourself. He’s gonna get the hard drive sooner or later, right? Ask him”.

 

 

He’s met with silence once more. This time, Kuroo checks if the line is still alive. It is.

 

 

“I’m betting my engagement ring on this. Akaashi Keiji still likes you.”

 

“You sound so confident about this”.

 

 

He sees Tsukishima walk towards the bedroom. Kuroo follows, with the intention of cutting the conversation to a close. His adoration for Bokuto rivals brotherly love, that’s why he’s laying down all his cards and letting Bokuto decide.

 

 

“Yeah I am”, Kuroo closes before hanging up.

 

 

Back on the bed, an arm snakes its way on his waist. “Kuroo, if they don’t work out, I am not having sex with you anymore”.

 

“Does this relationship only mean sex to you?”, Kuroo fakes a pained outcry. 

 

“Yes, indeed. Although I’m quite sure I can still find someone at par of even bet—“

 

 

He’s cut short by Kuroo blowing raspberries on his stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

Two days.

 

Akaashi may have been sulking for two days.

 

He almost phoned Kuroo twice: one during the anticipated dinner, and another at midnight. He surmised Bokuto’s hogging the line, so he switched to Tsukishima’s immediately.

 

 

_“Talk to him. You never sorted it out properly. Before you leave, please do.”_

 

 

Tsukishima did have a point. He’s always been sensible, just like he is. Was. Whatever. That’s why it surprised the blonde when a year ago Akaashi broke the news of his and Bokuto’s split. A lot of questions seemed to cross his face but he never put into words.

  

Akaashi was thankful for the reprieve.

 

 

_“To be honest, I look up to you ever since the training camp. Observe you and try to emulate your traits even. Tetsurou sometimes chide me for when I ask myself out loud, “What would Akaashi-san do?”. He says it might be some sort of crush, says I can deal with things my own way. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not._

 

_But Akaashi-san, with the amount of time I’ve known you, I think it’s safe for me to say that you were happiest when you were with Bokuto-san”._

 

 

Now, he’s thankful for the sincerity.

 

Akaashi puts on his cardigan and barrels towards the door.

 

 

_To hell with it. Why did I decide to rely on digital memory anyway?_

 

 

He phones a number and waits for a response.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

Bokuto opens the door to a sight of a disheveled, yet gorgeous man.

 

Akaashi is wearing the same cardigan he wore three days ago. He feels an undercurrent beneath the twitchy emerald eyes, an impending explosion in the way he picks on his nails.

 

 

“Bokuto-san, I—“

 

“I got your files. I mean, the software did. I’m backing it up in a separate device. Come in and I’ll get it for you”. This is not the first time Bokuto cuts Akaashi speaking.

 

“I see”.

 

 

He leads his guest towards the computer. Like he did the last time, he asks Akaashi if he likes a drink. Like he did the last time, Akaashi settles for tea. Bokuto rummages through the kitchen, finding the right kettle and the right mugs and the right teabags.

 

He glances at Akaashi, like the way he glanced at him back when he yearned for his tosses.

 

The difference now is that Akaashi is staring right back. His gaze as intense, like the way he looked when he knew Bokuto’s spike would blast through.Unwavering yet full of admiration.

 

Suddenly, Bokuto feels like running ten laps today.

 

 

 

 

 

“Here’s your tea”.

  

“Thank you”.

 

 

They both fall into a familiar silence, one that is not as suffocating than before. Akaashi sips his tea. Bokuto clicks his way mindlessly across the internet. Akaashi swells up in amusement.

 

 

“It won’t take too long to complete the transfer. Kuroo’s baby is as fast and as reliable as it can ever be”.

  

“I wish it was otherwise”.

 

 

Bokuto snaps his head to face the man across him. Akaashi looks unguarded. Vulnerable. He’s never been fond of seeing him in such state, unless intimacy beckons.

 

The screen signals the transfer has reached its conclusion.

  

Most of the time, it pays well to be transparent and blunt. This is most of the time.

 

 

“Bokuto-san, as you may have known, I’m leaving next week for an assignment. I will be away for two years. Before anything, I—“

 

“Akaaaashi…”.

 

 

The air between them becomes charged, electric, mild and inviting.

 

 

That familiar drawl of his name shoots his nerves to overdrive. There is reverence and adoration underneath the exaggeration of his name. He’s never wanted anything more than to hear it over and over again. Probably for the rest of his life.

 

 

“… I know. But can we try? I’d still like to try. At least, before you leave”.

 

 

For the second time this week, Akaashi is rendered dumbstruck. On a normal day, he would have quipped eagerly. But a year apart can extinguish the easy banters and shared confidence. Thankfully, they both nurtured the embers well.

 

 

“Bokuto-san, is five days enough time?”

 

 

He focuses on his former ace, determined to see, past the numbness and regret that filled him for a year, past the uncertainties the upcoming years will hurl at them.

 

 

“Five days, and however the fuck long is next after the next two years sounds enough”.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

Keiji leaves in twelve hours.

 

He’s done packing his stuff and is almost done with sorting through the recovered files. As much as he’s thankful for Kuroo’s software, it is a pain in the ass to review and reorganize thousands and thousands worth of documents and photos. A life’s worth.

 

Well, his with Koutarou’s.

 

 

 

_I guess digital memory is not so bad._

 

 

 

Koutarou shifts beside him, groaning at the light emitted by the laptop screen.

 

 

“How long have you been up?”

 

“I still haven’t slept, actually”.

 

“Huh?”

 

 

Koutarou throws his arm around Keiji’s waist, breathing and kissing his cheek as photos are methodically dumped to its assigned folder. It’s way past midnight. Keiji is about to leave in twelve hours, and he still has a thousand photos to go through and sort.

 

 

“How do you know which sunset belongs to the shore?”, Koutarou asks, staring at a particular photo Keiji is virtually holding. “You’ve probably seen hundreds of different sunsets in different places, how do you know which belongs to which?”

 

 

Keiji settles his laptop aside and chooses to face Koutarou. He refuses to admit his companion’s breath is tickling his side. Instead, he bumps their noses together and kisses the edges of both his eyebrows where the hair teases the temple.

 

 

“Because I took the damn shot”.

 

 

 

Twelve hours later, Keiji doesn’t admit he missed his flight on purpose.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Probably the longest I’ve written. My mind went into reset mode as I was sorting through my files. I may have projected my frustration. Sorry Akaashi!
> 
> I plan on making this a series, with a krtsk fluff counterpart. I have an “outline” ready, I just need another massive wave of motivation to put it into words
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
